Anatomy of a Partnership
by johnsarmylady
Summary: Have you ever wonder about Sherlock and John - two total opposites, yet together - as partners - they make one whole entity. A birthday gift for Mattsloved1, rated M because I think it ought!


**Welcome to this birthday gift for my lovely friend Mattsloved1. Mattie gave me three words to include in her fic - SNEAKY, PATIENT and BLISSFUL.  
I hope you enjoy this Mattie.  
Thanks to MapleleafCameo for looking this over for me.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing...**

It was dark and damp, and Sherlock and John had been in position in the doorways, one on either side of the unlit passageway, for best part of an hour.

Sherlock was adamant that the next target would be the Casino – the back door of which opened up onto one end of this passage. As ever, John had followed where his partner led, regardless of the unsuitability of his clothing for standing around on a windy April night.

Lestrade had resisted, saying that he had no intention of being idiotic enough to deploy his officers to a stake-out on April Fool's Day, but under the weight of Sherlock's scorn he had finally given in – that and the knowledge that Sherlock and John would also be there, if only to prove that the consulting detective had been right.

~O~

Blowing into his hands John tried to encourage some warmth back into them, rubbing them together before tucking them under his armpits.

The wind was howling down the passageway, and blowing grey gossamer clouds across the moon, and as the silver orb broke free of its veil, John glanced across and saw how it illuminated Sherlock's sharp, angular features, lighting up the grin that split the younger man's face as their eyes met.

John rolled his eyes. The **sneaky** git had promised him a night out – but this wasn't quite what he'd had in mind. Sherlock owed him a meal at Angelo's, at the very least.

The temptation to stamp his feet to prevent them freezing was becoming almost unbearable, yet he knew he could give the game away, so he contented himself with carefully marching on the spot, hoping that he would be able to react appropriately when the time came.

~O~

Tuning out the noise of wind and distant traffic Sherlock could hear John trying to keep warm without giving his position away, and as his friend turned to look over at him he grinned, knowing that this wasn't quite what the other man had envisaged when they discussed their night out.

Sherlock hated letting his partner down, but the thrill of the chase, the pitting of his brain against the criminal's brawn, proving once more that he was right was too good to miss. But as John turned to lean back against the brickwork Sherlock's grin slipped, and became a fond smile.

The small blond man waiting opposite him was **patient** beyond belief when it came to Sherlock, biding his time while the younger man slowly learned to understand his feelings, and exhibiting that same patience when the work came between them, or when Anderson or Donovan overstepped the mark and a show of anger or aggression would have had them banished from crime scenes.

~O~

The sound of a door banging against a wall as it was flung open was the sign they had been waiting for. With a brief glance at each other, and a nod to show they were ready, both men stilled, listening, counting the number of criminals by the pattern of running footsteps – they'd done this a hundred times before.

As the thieves drew almost level the two men as one stepped out from the shadow, Sherlock bending low, swinging his leg out and tripping the first of them, John catching the second with a well-placed left hook that spun him back in to the last man, overbalancing him enough to allow John the chance to snatch the sawn off shotgun from his hands.

With all three of them now pushed up against the wall, Sherlock phoned Lestrade while John stood guard over their catch, the shotgun aimed unerringly at the man who appeared to be the ringleader.

"It's not real," the man sneered. "It's just for show."

With a smile John handed the Shotgun to Sherlock, who had now finished his call and was watching with amusement.

"Really?" John quirked an eyebrow and reached behind him, pulling his gun from the waistband of his jeans and flicking the 'safety' off as he brought it round to aim directly at the man's head. "This isn't."

All three criminals paled and shrunk back against the wall.

Moments later, the sound of running footsteps could be heard approaching the far end of the passageway, and as fast as he'd brought it out so John now made the gun safe and returned it to its hiding place, with seconds to spare before Lestrade and Donovan came into view.

"Don't say it!" Lestrade glared at Sherlock, but he might just as well have saved his breath.

"What? That I told you so?" The consulting genius smirked.

John shook his head and stifled a chuckle.

"The sawn off's theirs." He said, pointing to the firearm held securely in his friend's gloved hand. "I disarmed him, so my prints will be on it, but then so will theirs." Jabbing a finger in the direction of the gang leader John added. "He says it's not real – I was tempted to test the theory…"

Sally glared at him.

"You're as big a loony as the Freak!"

"Nah." John grinned. "He's taller than me!" Unable to hold back their laughter any longer, the pair turned and made their way towards the street.

"Oi! What about the paperwork?"

Sherlock waved a hand airily as they carried on walking.

"Tomorrow – or maybe the next day….." He said, turning the corner and disappearing from sight.

~O~

"You need to warm up." Sherlock announced as he pushed John ahead of him up the stairs to the flat.

"No, I need to eat." John grumbled, fumbling the lock and eventually getting the door open.

"You go get into the shower, I'll order dinner – Chinese?"

"Indian." John's voice was muffled as he was already heading to the bathroom, his jumper half over his head.

Sherlock smiled as he watched him go, then put in a call to their usual Indian restaurant, ordering John's favourite dishes but telling them not to rush – delivery in an hour would suffice.

Satisfied that the food order was done, he then slipped out of his coat and jacket, removed his shoes and padded towards the bathroom where he could hear the water running, the pattern of splashing telling him that John was already under the hot spray.

Stepping through the door he quickly divested himself of the rest of his clothing and stepped into the shower behind the shorter man.

"I thought you were never going to come." John said softly, standing still and absorbing the warmth both from the water and the proximity of his lover.

Sherlock leaned in, his lips close to John's ear; his body moulded to the other man's as he place his hands on the shower wall.

"Oh I'll come," He said, his voice low and sexy.

John reached back and slapped Sherlock's arse, the sound of flesh on wet flesh obscenely sensual.

"Oh, so that's how you want to play, is it?" Sherlock nibbled at John's ear, then worked his way down his neck. "Turn around."

John turned, his hands coming up to rest lightly on the other man's shoulders, his head tilted to one side as those questing lips played at the junction where his neck met with misshapen clavicle and scarred shoulder.

Gently licking and kissing over the tender, damaged skin Sherlock worshiped the other man's body, dipping his head further to tease at John's dusky pink nipples, nipping and suckling until they stood proud and erect.

Satisfied with the effect he was having he lowered himself to his knees, his hands holding John's hips, his tongue sliding in and out of John's belly button, setting a slow, sensuous rhythm.

Sliding his hands up now to Sherlock's hair, John sunk his fingers into the thick, water-flattened locks – no longer curls but long, silky, sodden waves. With a **blissful** groan he clutched harder as his lover's head dipped further, engulfing his throbbing erection with the wet warmth of his mouth, sucking and teasing until with a choked cry John came, his body shaking and shuddering with the strength of his orgasm.

Opening his eyes, John found himself looking into silver grey eyes turned almost black with desire.

"Give me your hands." Sherlock's voice was a hoarse whisper.

Taking those hands, Sherlock's finger-tips ran lightly over the slight callouses brought on by years of army service, before guiding them down to his genitals.

"Take me apart – strip me down like you would your gun – feel how ready I am for this."

With expert movements John stroked, and fondled, teased and squeezed until, gasping for breath, Sherlock came, sinking to his knees, taking John with him, so that they ended up kneeling, knee to knee, foreheads pressed together.

"Food?" John asked as his stomach made itself heard over the noise of the water hitting their skin.

Sherlock chuckled weakly.

"I believe we have seven minutes – give or take thirty seconds, before it's delivered, and five minutes before the hot water runs out." He leaned in for one last kiss. "Come on, time to go."


End file.
